


The Chemistry of Us

by oftheunknown



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/F, Football | Soccer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-06-28 16:02:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19815673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oftheunknown/pseuds/oftheunknown
Summary: Sophomore Lexa Woods has big plans for her future on the soccer pitch, starting with her Division I career at Arkadia College. When her already-precarious grades reach their tipping point thanks to an impossible chemistry class, her scholarship and position on the starting eleven fall into jeopardy.Thankfully, Clarke Griffin is an excellent tutor.





	1. The Library

If there’s one thing that Lexa Woods can say about her relatively short college career thus far, it’s this: she has never cried in the undergraduate library. Not during the entirety of the nightmare that was Calculus I during her very first semester, not when she’d forgotten about a 4,000 word philosophy paper until the night before it was due, and certainly not during any finals week. She recalls with pride that at no point has she ever allowed herself to join the well-populated ranks of students who’ve shed tears in the stacks.

But now, staring at the results of her most recent chemistry exam in the virtual grade book, Lexa thinks she just might. _81/130,_ reads the score across from the row labeled _Exam One._

“Shit.” 

Lexa slams her laptop closed with a tad more force than necessary, the sound ringing out on the semi-quiet library floor. If any of her fellow students at the surrounding tables take notice, Lexa doesn’t know, because her forehead falls unceremoniously onto her closed laptop. She lets out a huff, the cool metal against her skin doing little to soothe the burn of her most recent academic mishap. 

Digging blindly through the backpack at her feet, she finds her phone. Picking up her head and slumping down in her chair, she opens up her messenger.

 _I got a D- on my chem exam_ **,** she sends.

Three little dots appear at the bottom of the thread almost immediately. 

_Jesus, I thought you actually studied for this one,_ is the reply.

Lexa lets out a slow breath through her nostrils. _I DID,_ she retorts. 

She watches the typing bubble pop up again, float there underneath her message for a moment, then disappear. A long couple of seconds pass, then it reappears. 

_Maybe we need to find you someone who actually understands chemistry._

Sinking impossibly lower in her seat, Lexa taps out several choice comments into the text box. _I understand chemistry_ , is what she ends up sending instead.

_Clearly you don’t._

Lexa responds, _Help me, Anya._

_I’m at home until practice tonight, if you get over here we’ll talk._

Suppressing a deep sigh, Lexa shoves her laptop into her backpack and drags herself from her chair. 

The late September air is cool and crisp as it drifts through her hair and jacket on the way back to her apartment. It’s just past noon, and she realizes with great distaste that there will be plenty of time for Anya to grill her about her exam score before they have to leave for practice that evening.

It takes her twenty minutes to get there and a good three minutes to wrestle open the finicky door to their apartment, but once she does, she finds Anya at the kitchen table. She’s working on what Lexa assumes to be her senior thesis. Piles of books and loose-leaf papers are stacked neatly around the older girl.

“Step into my office,” Anya teases her. She closes the notebook she’d been writing in and scoots it away from her. It’s a small gesture, but Lexa appreciates the display of undivided attention.

Lexa offers her a small grin and takes a seat at the opposite side of the table. 

“So,” Anya starts, making a show of leaning forward and folding her hands on the table. “You royally fucked that exam.”

Lexa doesn’t even have it in her to be offended at the callousness of the statement. Blunt honesty is what she's come to expect from her eldest cousin. “I royally fucked that exam,” she echoes.

“Lex, you remember that you have to maintain --”

She’s interrupted when Lexa sinks back in her own chair and interjects, “Maintain a 2.0 or I lose the scholarship, I know. It’s not that bad, really. If I can just get this chem grade up then I’ll be okay.”

Lexa remembers the day she received the scholarship of mention. She’d been a junior in high school, still in talks with multiple colleges about her recruitment to play soccer. A few Big Ten schools she’d been scouted for were quick to offer her full rides, but she’d had her eyes set on Arkadia College -- an Ivy, one she had no business attending if her grades were to be taken into consideration, that was for sure. That didn’t matter to Lexa, who’d fallen in love with the campus and the program. She’d never been an excellent student, but what she lacked in her transcript she made up for on the pitch, and after years of religiously inviting Arkadia’s coaches to every game and every tournament, that rigor had paid off. 

She had been sitting in class (history, she remembers without any fondness) when her phone buzzed in her pocket. She had almost let it go to voicemail, but something in her told her to look at the caller. _Coach Indra (Arkadia),_ read the contact on the screen. A spike of adrenaline shot through her, and she leapt to her feet. Her teacher, who had until then been droning on about something Lexa wasn’t listening to, tutted indignantly at her. 

“If you’d kindly take your seat, Woods, I’d like to continue. Do I need to confiscate your phone?” her teacher ground out rather unpleasantly. 

Lexa wasn’t listening. “Gottausethebathroom,” she responded, speaking so quickly the words all slurred together. Ignoring the shocked looks on the faces of her classmates and teacher alike, she rushed from the classroom. The door slammed shut behind her but she didn’t care, making a beeline for the closest restroom. 

There might have been someone in there, but she didn’t check. It didn’t matter. Her phone was still buzzing in her hand. 

Breathless, she answered, “Hello?”

“Is this Alexandria Woods?” came the almost immediate response. She recognized Indra’s voice from the last time they’d spoken at a showcase tournament in Colorado. 

“Lexa. Call me Lexa.” She took a deep breath, trying to contain her excitement. “But it’s me, yes.”

“Lexa,” Indra repeated. “This is Indra, head coach at Arkadia College, we spoke at the Classic showcase. I received the updated game footage you sent to myself and the rest of the coaching staff. We were very pleased to see the consistency in your performance, especially in consideration with what we’d observed at the tournament.”

Lexa realized that she hadn’t been breathing and forced herself to take a few shallow breaths. She wasn’t sure what to say. Fortunately, Indra wasn’t finished speaking.

“After having spoken with you there and after watching the footage, myself and my assistant coaches think that you would make an excellent fit for our squad.”

“I--” Lexa started, then stopped. If she would have taken a look in the bathroom mirror, she’d have seen the wide-eyed expression on her face. Her brain was firing on overdrive, searching desperately through her excitement for the correct words to say. She’d been gunning for Arkadia for the last three years. Was she actually hearing the words she’d been praying to hear?

“Of course, you do recognize that Arkadia is an Ivy League institution, and we consider the education of our student-athletes to be of utmost importance?”

“Yes, of course, I know Arkadia is very selective,” Lexa responded breathlessly.

“Then you’ll also have realized that we hold our admits to very high standards. With Division 1 athletes this is less of a concern, however…” Indra's voice trailed off.

Lexa’s breath caught in her throat, panic washing over her. She had never been an exemplary student, she knew that, but had hoped that her excellence in soccer would propel her into a good university anyway. A conceited assumption to make, she knew, but one she had made regardless.

Indra continued, “Look, Woods, I’m sure you’re aware that your transcript isn’t exactly stellar. I’m willing to go up against the admissions office for you, since we have quite the need for a mid that brings what you do to the table, and I’m aware that the high school you currently attend is rather...rural. But I need you to make it easier for me. You get your grades up these two semesters, I’ll offer you the spot on my roster and the scholarship that goes with it.”

“Yes,” Lexa said immediately. “I’ll get them up, I promise. I won’t let my grades keep me off the pitch.”

“Good,” Indra’s stern voice carries across the line. “Your cousin, Anya, put in a good word for you, but while that bears weight with us, it won’t matter to Admissions. It’s my understanding that you still have two months left in your term, correct?”

“Yes.

“Then in two months I’ll be expecting an official copy of your report card in my inbox. If I see the same commitment to your academics as I know you've made to soccer, we shouldn’t have any problems. Check your email tonight, I’ll have my assistant head coach send you the details for signing with us.”

“You won’t be disappointed,” Lexa responded, mustering all the confidence she had left inside her, a steely determination in her voice. 

“I hope not,” Indra said. Then, in a lighter tone Lexa had never heard from her in their admittedly limited interactions, “We’ll make you an Arkadia Warrior yet. Check your email. We'll be in touch, Woods. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye,” Lexa echoed, but the line had already gone dead.

Lexa wandered back to her classroom with her mind in a complete fog, goofy grin plastered on her face. She plunked her cell phone down wordlessly into her history teacher’s hand when she reentered the room and fell gracelessly into her desk once again. She didn’t see the weird glances that her classmates kept shooting her way for the rest of the period. She was residing securely on Cloud Nine.

She’d borrowed her Uncle Gustus’s phone to call Anya as soon as she’d gotten home from school that afternoon. When she’d told Anya the news, her cousin's voice had been the most elated she’d ever heard it. A very different tone from the one she was using now, laced with concern over Lexa’s failed chemistry exam. It breaks Lexa out of her reminiscence. 

“What’s your GPA right now?” Anya questions, her eyebrows furrowing skeptically. 

“2.1,” Lexa responds in a mumble so low that it takes Anya a couple of seconds to decipher what she’s said.

“Jesus, Lexa.”

“I _know_ , Anya!”

She feels guilty for the clipped tone of her voice as soon as the words fall into the space between them. This isn’t the first time she’s snapped at Anya -- far from it, taking into account the entire childhood they’d spent living together. Even still, Lexa knows that her closest friend is only trying to help.

Lexa rubs the bridge of her nose and sucks in a deep, steadying breath. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it like that.”

Her cousin gets up from her chair and walks around the table to lay a comforting hand on Lexa’s shoulder. “It’s okay, I know you’re stressed out. This isn’t easy.”

Lexa lets out a little snort. “Guess I should’ve paid more attention to the actual school more than soccer back in high school, huh?”

Anya laughs, squeezing Lexa’s shoulder. “If you didn’t pay so much attention to soccer, you wouldn’t be here now, would you?”

“Guess not,” Lexa concedes.

“Exactly. Either way, we’ll get you through this. I’m sure Raven can help you out again, she took chemistry last semester.”

Lexa’s head snaps back to look Anya in the eye so quickly that she feels a tendon in her neck wrench. “ _No._ Not Raven again. Last time she tried to tutor me, I came this close--” Lexa holds up her hand for Anya to see, fingers pinched so closely together that only a hair’s breadth of space lies between them, “--to fighting her.”

Lexa very distinctly remembers the calculus class she took in her very first semester of college. Raven, a fellow freshman and teammate, had offered to help her out when her first exam score came back less-than-savory. The mechanical engineering major was undoubtedly keen at math, but far less so at actually teaching it. Most of their time studying had been split between Raven explaining concepts in terms that went straight over Lexa’s head and Raven being indignant that Lexa had managed to process exactly none of what she’d just said. Her grade in calculus had surprisingly improved after Raven’s help, but at the expense of her patience and the late nights they’d spent in the library threatening to strangle one another.

“Okay, fine, we’ll have Raven sit this one out. Let’s talk to her tonight, though. see if she has any smart engineering friends who can drag your ass through chemistry.”

Sensing that she isn’t going to weasel her way out of another bout of tutoring, Lexa relents. “Fine,” she grumbles. “Just _not_ Raven.”

Anya grins and ruffles the hair at the top of Lexa’s head. “Great. You should go take a nap before practice tonight, I heard we’re running the conditioning circuit today.”

Lexa ducks her head, batting her cousin’s hand away from her head. At the mention of conditioning, she lets out a long groan.

“Shit.”

\---

Lexa isn’t sure of much these days, but if there’s one thing she knows, it’s that she belongs on the pitch. 

Her best days have been those in which she is covered head to toe in mud and grass stains and aerosol marking paint, staining her kit so thoroughly that it takes two rounds of scrubbing and Spray n’ Wash to remove. Her best memories are immortalized in the scars on the flesh of her thighs and calves, reminders of every hard-fought battle for a ball, for a goal, for a victory. In a way, her very own body is a canvas for the beautiful game. She gives her heart and soul to the pitch, and the proof is right there on her skin, painted in sweat and blood and eye-black. 

The pitch feels like home. It feels like everything good she’s ever known, made tangible. That feeling alone is enough to justify every opportunity cost she’s ever paid. Every little thing -- the grass under her thighs on a good tackle, the heavenly contact on a perfect strike, the _swish_ of a ball in the back of the net -- was all the momentum she'd ever needed to coast through every other aspect of her life. Lexa Woods was good at soccer, and that had always been enough.

Until now. 

Now, a lifetime of academics neglected in favor of sport have all come to collect their debts at once, it seems to Lexa. She’s beginning to regret all of the classes she’d skipped in favor of tournaments and camps located halfway across the county. She’d invested so much time into getting recruited that now that she was finally here, she was at a loss. She’d always been able to get by in school by the skin of her teeth, but no longer. And where one disaster lurked, another was bound to follow.

She knows she’s about to be thoroughly reminded of that by her head coach when Indra calls her over after the rest of the team has been dismissed for the night.

“Woods!” the older woman barks out as the squad jogs off the field toward the bench shelters. 

Lexa winces and stops in her tracks. Raven, who’s running at her elbow, chuckles and whispers, “Good luck.”

“Yes, Coach?” Lexa calls out from where she stands on the touchline.

“Come over here.” Indra beckons her over to the halfway line with an unenthusiastic wave of her hand. When Lexa has come suitably closer, she continues, “I heard you’re having some trouble with your grades.”

“Chemistry’s been rough, but I’m working on it,” Lexa offers, her voice sounding much more confident than she feels. Her arms stick straight down at her sides, hands balled into fists underneath her warm-up jacket. It’s easy to pretend that she’s just steeling herself against the cold nighttime air, not distracting herself from the nerves that are working their way into her stomach.

“I’d hope you were,” Indra tells her, the pointed look in her eyes the only expressive feature of her otherwise stony face. “Coaching staff is assigning progress reports in a few weeks, and it would be in your best interest for your instructors to be satisfied with your work so far.”

Lexa opens her mouth to respond but Indra is continuing before she’s able to get anything out. “You’ve been an asset on the wing so far this season, but don’t think I’ll bend the rules for you. I’m sure Ontari would love a shot at the starting eleven.”

Lexa’s jaw clenches at the mention of Ontari. The freshman left wing had just been recruited that season and they were only four matches in, but Ontari had already proven herself to be a competitor for Lexa’s position. There had been no love between them so far, despite Lexa’s attempts to start off on the right foot. The younger teammate had snubbed her then, and spared no chance to give Lexa a dirty look or threatening glance since -- only when the rest of their team’s backs were turned, it seemed, because no one else had noticed the budding rivalry. 

Lexa realizes that Indra has been watching her expectantly. With all the resounding conviction she can muster, she says, “I won’t let one class keep me off the pitch.”

She’s struck with a sudden rush of deja vu, but forces away the startled expression that she feels creeping onto her features.

Indra’s appraising eyes hold her gaze for a long moment before giving a solitary nod of her head. “I expect nothing less. Rest up tonight, we’re putting in overtime before we play State this weekend.”

Lexa nods her own head in affirmation, but Indra has already turned around and is shouting orders at the coaching staff, who are picking up the training cones scattered about the 18-yard box. 

She turns back to the end line, where her teammates are packing up their bags to leave for the night. She spots Raven standing at the edge of the home-side shelter and jogs over to greet her.

“Good news with Indra?” Raven asks as she approaches.

Lexa snorts and shakes her head. “I wish. School’s kicking my ass.”

“Yeah, Anya told me about it,” Raven says, plopping down heavily onto the grass next to her. She stretches out her legs, sans shin guards with her socks pushed down to her ankles, and lets out a long groan. 

When Lexa lifts her head up to scan the field, she realizes that most of her teammates are on their way out. She spots Anya lingering near the entrance to their practice stadium, chatting with a few of the girls, no doubt waiting for Lexa to make the long walk home to their apartment.

“Did she?”

“Yup. Says it’s chemistry this time. Fortunately, I do happen to be a chemistry whiz in addition to a math genius,” Raven tells her, eyebrows raising expectantly.

Lexa laughs at this, nudging her teammate’s shoulder with her own. “I believe it, Reyes. But we both know what happened last time you and I were left alone to study.”

Raven returns her gesture, her elbow bumping into Lexa’s. “True,” she concedes. “But we can’t have you bombing out because of one chemistry class, we really need you this season.”

“I know. I just don’t know what to do. We’re a month in and I already feel so far behind. They didn’t teach us any of this back home.”

Raven leans back onto her hands, spreading her fingers out in the grass. Her brow furrows in thought. Lexa knows better than to interrupt. A few seconds pass, and then her face lights up in a revelatory grin. 

“You’re so lucky you’ve got a friend like me, Woods. I know just the person to help you.”

\---

It’s almost exactly a week later that Lexa finds herself walking through the stacks of the library, looking for someone she doesn’t even know.

 _“Clarke’s a pre-med major,”_ Raven had told her. _“We met in my dorm last semester. I know you guys will get along great.”_

Lexa had been unsure at first, but after spending two more class periods in chemistry and becoming hopelessly more confused, she relented. She allowed Raven to give her number to her new tutor, and crossed her fingers that whoever this Clarke was, he knew what he was doing.

She felt more than awkward walking through the stacks, peering around the bookshelves into the private little nooks of desks and chairs, looking for her tutor. So far, her search has been for naught -- she hasn’t seen a single guy so far.

Lexa realizes that Raven had never actually described to her what Clarke looked like. She pauses for a moment to produce her phone from her back pocket.

 _What does he look like?_ she texts Raven. 

While she waits for the response, she ambles further down the rows of stacks. There’s a vibration from her phone, and she looks down.

_He?_

“Lexa?”

Lexa’s head snaps back up at the sound of her name. The voice that carries it is soft and gravelly, yet so distinctly feminine that it startles her. A short distance away from her is a girl emerging from a nook in the stacks, the expression on her face mirroring Lexa’s. Her eyes, so brightly blue that Lexa can make out their color from where she’s standing, narrow with scrutiny.

“You’re Lexa?” the girl repeats, tilting her head as though she’s afraid she’s misplaced her recognition. 

“I’m -- yeah,” Lexa blurts out after another long moment of silence. Trying to mask her surprise, she swallows down the uncertain tone of her voice. “I’m sorry, you’re --?”

“I’m Clarke.”

“You’re Clarke,” Lexa repeats dumbly. The name rolls slowly off her tongue, and she startles herself when she enjoys the way it feels. This is not what she expected at all. She’d been prepared to meet a man, and yet the person standing across from her, the _real_ Clarke, was unmistakably not so. In fact, the distinctly feminine form she was fixated on is the complete antithesis of her expectations. Not that she’s complaining.

“Raven’s friend,” the real Clarke verifies. Clarke is walking toward her now, and Lexa can begin to make out the intricacies of her features; her eyes trace wavy blonde hair, a few strands tucked behind her ear, and the gentle curving slope of her nose. 

When Clarke extends her hand, Lexa takes it. She could take a moment to recognize that the other girl’s hand is soft and pleasantly so, but Lexa clears her throat and pulls herself together.

“Of course. Nice to meet you. I’m sorry, it’s just that I was expecting --”

“A dude?” Clarke interjects with a good-natured grin and lets her hand fall away from Lexa’s. “That’s alright, not the first time it’s happened. I’d have thought that Raven would mention it, though?”

Lexa responds with a grin of her own. “I guess she didn’t find it necessary,” she says, feeling better now that she’s gained her composure, “But she did say that you could help me with chemistry.”

“Definitely,” Clarke says, taking a few strides backwards and gesturing Lexa into the study nook she’d just walked out of. It reminds Lexa of stepping into office hours. Not because the professors make her feel as nervous as she is now or anything, she tells herself, but because Clarke’s actions radiate the same air of casual academic confidence.

It’s a small little space with just enough room for a four-by-four table and two plush desk chairs. It looks cozy enough to Lexa, who notices that Clarke has already laid out her study materials, complete with the same copy of the chemistry textbook that Lexa has. Except Clarke’s is neater-looking, with sharp corners.

“I used to tutor chemistry in high school,” Clarke explains as they take their seats on opposite ends of the table. Lexa drops her backpack at her feet. “There hasn’t been a person that I haven’t been able to teach.”

Clarke looks very proud of herself.

It makes Lexa smile. “Yet,” she jokes.

Clarke lets out a little laugh, but shakes her head. “I’m serious. I’m an excellent teacher.”

There’s something about that statement that makes Lexa’s chest feel a little fuzzy, but she doesn’t have much time to dwell on it, because Clarke is speaking again, leaning forward with her elbows on the table.

“We’ll get you back on track,” she says, a reassuring lilt to her voice.

“I hope so,” Lexa tells her, “because my livelihood is on the line here. No pressure or anything.”

The grin on Clarke’s lips quirks further upward. “Yeah, Raven said you’re her teammate. She told me that if I didn’t get you back into shape, I’d be responsible for the downfall of the entire Arkadia College soccer team.”

“That...certainly sounds like something Raven would say,” Lexa says, shaking her head. “She’s one for dramatics.”

“I’m with you there.” Then Clarke is pushing her chair backwards and standing up. She plucks a water bottle from the table. “I’m gonna go get more water, then we can figure out where we should start?”

Lexa nods. “Of course.”

As soon as Clarke has left her line of vision, Lexa’s phone is out.

 _YOU DIDN’T TELL ME CLARKE IS A GIRL_. 

Raven’s reply is almost instant, as though she’s been waiting for Lexa’s text.

_A hot girl ;)_

Lexa feels her cheeks growing warm. She smacks her phone down onto the table and occupies herself by producing her chemistry book and notes from her backpack. As she’s sifting through the pages, her phone buzzes again.

_You alive, Woods?_

Lexa texts back, _You suck._

It’s then that Clarke reappears, full water bottle in hand and looking chipper. Lexa silences her phone, not eager to hear from Raven again. She takes a slow, steadying breath in. She’s never had an issue with pretty girls before, she thinks. So, no big deal, right? There’s a little corner of her brain in which that word echoes, her own voice reverberating in her ears: _right?_

“So,” Clarke says, dropping back down into her chair and pushing her laptop to the side. The movement offers Lexa an unobstructed view of the girl opposite her. The Arkadia sweater she’s wearing is just a little too large on her frame, and the collar of it shifts down just a little. It’s enough to draw Lexa’s eyes to the smooth skin there.

Her gaze snaps back to where it belongs, however, when Clarke continues speaking. “What is it that you don’t understand?”

The absurdity of the question is enough to startle Lexa into a laugh. “That’s the problem,” she says, “I don’t know what I don’t understand.”

Clarke had initially frowned at Lexa’s outburst of laughter, but upon hearing the explanation, her expression relaxes into a smile.

She says, “In a way, that does make it easier for us.”

“Does it?”

Clarke nods. “We’ll just start from the very beginning.”

“There’s over a month of material.”

Her nonchalant shrug sends the material of Clarke’s crewneck sweater further down one shoulder, and Lexa totally does not notice the hint of collarbone that the movement reveals. 

“So?” Clarke’s question is as brazen as it is rhetorical. “I told Raven I’d get you on track and that’s what I intend to do. If it takes us until the end of term, we’ll get you there.”

 _We_ , Clarke had said. The word stirs a feeling deep in Lexa’s chest, the very same something that she’d felt when she first heard her own name fall from Clarke’s lips. Now, however, it was too obvious to ignore. The thought of her and Clarke -- this girl she hardly knows, this girl with a pretty face and a confidence to rival Lexa’s -- spending an entire term together like this...that’s a good thought, one that Lexa holds on to. 

Lexa can read the determination in Clarke’s eyes, but she asks anyway, “You’d do that?”

Clarke nods again.

“I know tutors are usually paid, but my scholarship’s on the brink as it is, and --”

Clarke cuts her off with an unperturbed wave of her hand. “Nope. A friend of Raven’s is a friend of mine.” When Lexa doesn’t respond immediately she adds, “And an important friend, at that.”

Lexa feels the blush rising up her neck, and figures she might have to get used to such a feeling around Clarke. 

“Raven’s one to talk,” she says. “She’s our best defender, one of the best center backs I’ve ever seen at this level, really.”

“Raven also said you were awfully modest for such a hotshot.” Clarke’s tone is playful, but there’s a deeper sound to be recognized underneath it. The grin on the girl’s face is lopsided and Lexa is struck with the thought that it’s rather endearing.

Lexa only just refrains from stuttering when she responds, “I try to be modest.”

Clarke’s cheshire grin grows even wider. She quirks an eyebrow and says, “So you’re admitting you’re a hotshot, then?”

Lexa, taken aback, can only shake her head. She can feel her eyes widening in surprise, her startled reaction spreading across her face on its own accord. Was Clarke...flirting with her? The thought alone is enough to send her neurons firing themselves into overdrive. 

“No! I’m not -- I don’t think --”

Lexa stops herself when she realizes that Clarke is laughing, really laughing this time, her torso bent over the table and her head in her hands.

There’s that familiar blush again. Lexa’s convinced that it’s never actually left her cheeks, but it seems to burn ever hotter now. Clarke’s laughter is enough to assuage the embarrassment she feels, though. A broad smile is panning across her own face as she watches Clarke’s shoulders shake with the effort of containing her laughter.

“Are you always that easy to embarrass, Lexa Woods? I’d think you’d be better under pressure, with what I’ve seen of you on the field.”

Now, it’s Lexa’s turn to smirk. “You’ve watched me play?”

“I’ve watched _Raven_ play,” Clarke corrects, voice cool and even, though the glint in her eyes gives her away. “You just happened to be there, too.”

“Sure,” Lexa concedes, grin widening. 

When Lexa holds her gaze but refrains from commenting any further, Clarke begins to flush a quiet shade of pink. It's just barely there but Lexa can see it gracing the tops of her cheekbones. Immediately, she resolves that it will not be the last time she makes Clarke blush.

To her credit, Clarke recovers quickly, reaching across the table to take hold of Lexa’s notebook. She turns to the notes from the very first lecture and taps the page expectantly with her finger tip.

“Well, if we don’t learn any chemistry, I won’t ever have the chance to watch you play.”

An image of Clarke in the stands flashes through Lexa's mind, and a part of her thinks chemistry might not be so bad after all. 


	2. The Lecture

When she had finally emerged from the mess that was her freshman year of college, Lexa assumed that the worst of it was over. That’s what she’d always been told, anyway, that the first year was the most difficult. 

It  _ was _ difficult, Lexa recalls. She should have been living the dream, by all accounts; she’d escaped to the east coast from her stuffy rural Illinois hometown, she was playing soccer for her dream school and was actually getting play time, and she had her elder cousin Anya to guide her through it all.

In reality, however, she’d gotten off to a rough start. It only took a month or so for Lexa to figure out that she had been woefully underprepared. She quickly realized that the academic rigor of Arkadia College would not be a foe so easily slain. Between pulling all-nighters for only mediocre grades and Indra’s unforgiving practice schedule, Lexa still isn’t quite sure how she’d made it through her first year sans academic probation. Anya and Raven had been her saviors in those days, the two of them scraping both her and her grades off the ground a countless number of times. 

She spent a lot of time cursing her shitty high school education that year.

Sophomore year, though, seemed to be looking up. The senior who played left wing during her freshman year had graduated, leaving the position ripe for the taking. And Lexa did take it, stepping in almost seamlessly to fill the spot in the midfield, much to Indra’s satisfaction. The first four matches of the season had been some of the best soccer she’d ever played. Her touches were clean, passes crisp, and she’d felt more in tune with the game than she ever had. She’d even added a handful of assists to her stats sheet. Now, going into this week’s match preparations, Lexa is staring down the only thing she’s missing -- the goals.

Coach Indra seems to be of the same mindset. The evening after Lexa’s very first meeting with Clarke Griffin, Indra is dead-set on putting everyone through the attacking paces at practice. 

The late September night is cold, but Lexa doesn’t feel it. She’s flushed with heat underneath her training shirt and shorts, breath coming out in hard puffs that condense in the cold air and rise toward the shining stadium lights. This is the tenth time she’s run this drill at the top of the 18-yard box, and she’s getting real tired of Anya blocking every single one of her shots on goal. 

Anya has tipped her most recent strike over the top of the net. Lexa doesn’t even try to conceal the glare she shoots toward her cousin, a furiously formidable goalkeeper if she’s ever seen one.

“Shag your ball,” Anya calls to her, and Lexa doesn’t miss the sly tone of her voice even from twenty yards away. She can hear the amused laughter of her teammates behind her. 

She grumbles under her breath as she jogs away from the drill and the rest of her teammates to retrieve the ball. When Lexa is behind the net, safely within Anya’s earshot and away from Indra’s, she snipes, “Shag yourself.”

Anya snorts, and the unexpected comment from Lexa must put her off guard just so, because the sharp sound of the ball hitting the inside goalpost rings out across the pitch.

“Excellent placement, Ontari,” she hears Indra bark from where she’s watching at the center line.

Lexa bristles. It is just her luck that the one time Anya fails to make a save at Lexa’s doing, it’s Ontari’s shot. She watches the freshman midfielder jog toward her at an almost leisurely pace. When she notices Lexa’s gaze, she slows down even more, and Lexa is positive that she’s purposefully making a show of retrieving her ball from the back of the net.

A scarlet anger sparks deep within her chest, and she feels the flush rise up her neck and onto her cheeks. She knows she shouldn’t let Ontari get to her like this, but a part of her can’t help but feel frustrated; her scholarship is already teetering on the high wire as it is, she’ll be damned if she loses her starting position as well. She’s always thought of herself as a rather calm person, but she’d be lying if she said that her freshman rival didn’t test that judgement every night at practice.

Lexa knows she shouldn’t, but she opens her mouth to let out a biting remark. She’s rescued from her own poor decision-making, however, when a sharp whistle from the center mark signals the end of their practice session. She does catch the tail-end of the smirk that Ontari shoots in her direction as the freshman turns to make the jog back to their coach.

Anya, who has come around the other side of the net to pick up her water bottle, must see the look in her eyes. 

“Next time you might get one past me, little cousin,” she says, smacking Lexa’s shoulder good-naturedly.

The force of the blow is hampered largely by the padding of the keeper gloves Anya is wearing, and it draws a tentative smile from Lexa. She feels the tension loosen in the fists she hadn’t realized she’d been making.

“Gross,” Lexa says, wrinkling her nose. “Don’t touch me, you spit on those gloves.”

Despite her protestations, Anya touches her again anyway, prodding her forward toward the center of the pitch where the majority of their team has already gathered into a loose huddle. 

“It keeps them sticky,” Anya responds, rubbing the palms of her gloves together for emphasis. 

“Even more gross.”

Anya shushes her as they settle into the space among their teammates. Wordlessly, Raven weaves through the crowd towards them, slinging an arm around Lexa’s shoulders. She gives Lexa a wink, though the focused expression on her face doesn’t change. Their attention is drawn to Indra, standing in the center with a clipboard in her hands. 

Their coach’s parting words are brief, as per usual, but before finally dismissing them all for the evening, she makes a particularly emphasized point:

“For the match this Saturday, we’re looking to finish. We have a lot of success on the buildup, but we haven’t put away nearly as many as we should have so far. I’ll be expecting a big showing out of the forwards especially, but I also want to see the midfield step up to put some in the back of the net.”

When Indra takes a slow, sweeping look at all of them, Lexa swears that her coach's  gaze lingers a second longer on her.

Raven catches up to her and Anya on their way out of the stadium that night. 

“Hey, Woods sisters,” Raven drawls, nudging her way between the two of them on the sidewalk, her sneakers scuffing noisily against the concrete.

Anya shakes her head, but Lexa can see a little grin at the corner of her mouth. “I thought we’d gotten rid of you back there, Reyes. And we’re not sisters, for the thousandth time.”

Raven shrugs and plucks the water bottle out of the pocket of Lexa’s backpack. After taking a few hearty swigs and dripping most of it onto the sidewalk, she says, “You can’t get rid of me. And you might as well be sisters.”

Lexa looks up to see that Anya is looking at her. They look they exchange is knowing. Raven’s right, in a way. They might as well be sisters. The two of them had spent the majority of their lives in the same house together with Gustus, Anya’s father and Lexa’s uncle.

“So,” Raven begins, stuffing the bottle back into its place in Lexa’s bag rather unceremoniously, “the softball team is throwing a party next weekend.”

Lexa narrows her eyes at her. “The softball team is throwing the party, or the baseball team is throwing the party and the softball team will be there?”

“You would ask that, wouldn’t you?” Raven chirps, looking far too innocent. “I’ll be honest, it’s actually the baseball team’s party.”

“Why wouldn’t you just say that?”

“Because, baby Woods, if I told you it was the baseball team, you wouldn’t come. I have to entice you with the softball players first.” 

Lexa doesn’t have to look at her teammate to know what expression is bound to be on her face, but she does anyway. Sure enough, Raven’s wiggling her eyebrows at her, a goofy smirk on her lips.

“That’s not true!” Lexa protests. As they cross an intersection, she jerks her thumb at the perpendicular street. “Isn’t your apartment down that way, Raven?”

Raven snickers. “No worries, I’ll walk with you two and take the scenic route. You’re not getting rid of me yet.” She waves her hand in nonchalant dismissal. “But it’s okay, I’m already aware of your feelings on the softball team. Whatever happened to that girl you were talking to, the pitcher?”

Anya laughs. Lexa scowls.

“I haven’t spoken to her since last term.”

“Why? She was cute.”

She sees Anya opening her mouth to make a remark, so Lexa reaches behind Raven and smacks her cousin square between the shoulder blades. “Don’t say anything!” she grumbles.

“But it was funny!” Anya protests between bouts of laughter.

Raven spreads her arms out in a gesture of defeat. “I won’t ask, because I’m sure one of you will spill the beans eventually. But if you’re not going to fraternize with the pitcher, maybe you should bring someone instead.”

Lexa already knows what the answer will be, but she asks anyway. “Like who?”

“Clarke,” Raven answers. The tone of her voice is reminiscent of a third-grader teasing a classmate over a crush. 

Anya interjects, “That tutor you set Lexa up with?”

Lexa can hear the sheer smugness saturating Raven’s voice when she says, “Oh, I set Lexa up, alright.”

“That’s not what’s happening!” Lexa protests through her teammates’ laughter. “She’s just helping me with chemistry.”

“But you wish she was helping you with anatomy, don’t you, little Woods?”

“Raven!” Lexa groans in admonition, ignoring the little “ _ yuck!”  _ from Anya on Raven’s other side.

Raven lets out a deep laugh in response, holding up her hands in surrender. “I’m only kidding. Clarke’s an expert at chemistry, that’s why I asked her to do this.”

To Lexa’s relief, Raven peels away from them to cross the street. “This is my stop. I’ll see you both tomorrow night.” They exchange departing words and Raven hurries to the other side of the road and toward her apartment.

Lexa is about to breathe out a sigh of relief when she hears Raven call from twenty yards down the street:

“She is hot though, isn’t she, Lex!”

Lexa scowls. “Goodbye, Raven!”

\--

It’s another day and a half before Lexa sees Clarke again. They had agreed rather easily that they’d meet right after each of Lexa’s chemistry lectures after she’d made a quip that everything she learned went in one ear and right out the other. Now, Lexa is fresh out of her Wednesday afternoon lecture and ambling through the library, munching mindlessly on a protein bar.

If she squirmed nervously in her seat throughout the entirety of the lecture and annoyed the hell out of the poor girl sitting next to her, she refuses to acknowledge it. Despite her evident lack of focus, she thinks that she actually managed to retain some of the information; Clarke had shown her how to take better notes during their last meeting, and to Lexa’s surprise, it actually made the lecture easier. There would be no more doodling in the margins where Lexa was concerned. 

All things considered, Lexa feels pretty confident. That is, until she’s standing outside of their study nook and is faced with the realization that she actually has to interact with Clarke again. Lexa wipes her hands on the front of her jeans and wonders if Clarke has gotten there before she has. She’s half a step through the threshold to their study room before she’s stopped right in her tracks.

Clarke has indeed gotten there first. She sits with her back to Lexa, body leaning over the table and scribbling furiously in a notebook. There’s an open textbook in front of her, and Lexa watches her look up, reach out, and carefully flip through the pages. She’s wearing another sweater, this one dark green and very soft-looking. Lexa’s admiring the way her braided hair falls over her shoulder when she’s struck with a thought so suddenly and violently that she almost scoffs aloud,  _ What the hell am I doing? _

She’s Lexa Woods, and Lexa Woods does not act like an absolute fool for pretty girls. That’s her train of thought, anyway, until another sneaks up on her:  _ You think Clarke is pretty.  _

Thoroughly fed up with herself, Lexa straightens her spine and knocks on the wooden bookshelf at her shoulder. She sends up a silent prayer of thanks that Clarke hadn’t turned around sooner and seen her standing there, frozen and looking stupid. She forces a neutral expression onto her face, but it almost slips away when Clarke turns around. The blonde’s features smooth into an easy smile at the sight of Lexa.

“Hey, you made it,” Clarke greets her. 

Lexa is entirely convinced that the rubbery feeling in her legs as she moves to take her seat across from Clarke is purely a product of Indra’s practice the previous night.

“Of course I did. You haven’t been waiting long, have you?” 

Clarke shakes her head. “Nope. Even if you were, I’m usually studying here anyway, I don’t have class until three.”

Lexa pulls out her notes and textbook as Clarke puts hers away. “Lucky. I’ve been going since eight this morning,” Lexa tells her.

Clarke winces and reaches across the table to grab Lexa’s notes. “That’s rough, I had an eight o’clock class my very first semester -- never again.” She thumbs through the pages from that afternoon’s lecture, tapping them satisfactorily with the tip of her finger. “These look much better than last time.”

Lexa grins, flushed with pride. How interesting it was that such seemingly small words of praise had such an effect on her. “Your advice was good,” she says simply. 

“I told you, I’m an excellent teacher,” Clarke quips, and  _ winks.  _ She winks, looking far too sly for her own good, and Lexa  _ feels  _ the gears her brain grinding to a halt.

Fortunately for her, Clarke leans down to retrieve something from her backpack and spares Lexa the embarrassment of having an audience to the flush that spreads from her neck to her nose. Lexa has just finished blinking back her astonishment like an idiot when Clarke sits upright with a chemistry textbook in her hands.

“Looks like you went over reactions today, right?” Clarke asks. 

“Uh, yeah.”

“Great.” Clarke peers down at Lexa’s notes, eyes squinting. “Well, your handwriting is still as terrible as it was last time, but it looks like we’re starting with redox reactions.”

“Sorry, no amount of good advice is going to fix that handwriting. It’s nineteen years in the making,” Lexa tells her with a shrug. 

She can see that Clarke is trying her best to look deadpan, but there’s a smile in her eyes when she says, “We’ll see.”

Then Clarke is leaning down again to rifle through her backpack. She produces a small stack of printed papers and slaps them down onto the table in front of Lexa. 

“Worksheets,” she announces.

Lexa groans.

“No, listen,” Clarke interjects, cutting off Lexa’s sound of disapproval. “I took the exact same class last year with a different professor, and I kept all the handouts she gave us. They were super helpful.” When she looks up to see Lexa looking skeptical, she adds, “I’ll help you work through them.”

Lexa thumbs through the pages, not excited at the thought of working through four pages of worksheets but a little placated at Clarke’s offer of help. “If you insist.”

Clarke nods dutifully. “I do.”

Over the next half hour, Lexa works steadily through the first page. She finds herself referencing her notes for every step of every problem; it’s much more difficult now, with her pencil to the paper, than it was when she was sitting in lecture. Typically, this would be frustrating. She refuses, however, to let Clarke see her get upset, especially so early on in their time together. So she stays quiet, save for the little sighs of frustration that escape her on their own volition.

When she steals occasional glances at her study partner, she sees Clarke deep in concentration as well. The blonde is bent over her laptop, typing studiously away. A few loose strands of hair fall over her forehead and eyes, and every so often she notices them and sweeps them back away from her face. Every time, Lexa has to remind herself to look away.

Eventually, Lexa finds herself thoroughly stumped. She’s been staring, motionless, at a half-completed reaction for a solid five minutes before Clarke notices.

“Stuck?” Clarke inquires, peering at Lexa over her laptop and quirking an eyebrow.

Lexa, who until then had been trying to figure it out quick enough to avoid asking for help, realizes that she has no choice but to concede. 

“Yeah,” she admits. “I’m not even sure which one is reducing and which one is oxidizing.”

Clarke scoots her laptop to the side to make room. She draws the worksheet closer to her and crooks her neck to examine it without taking it away from Lexa. Only a few seconds pass before Clarke has the answer.

“Look here,” she says, reaching out to draw Lexa’s attention to the paper. “Do you see the transfer of electrons between ferrous disulfide and the ferrous ion here?”

That’s all it takes. “Oh!” Lexa gasps. She reclaims the paper from Clarke and quickly scribbles down the answers before they escape her. She looks back up at Clarke rather sheepishly and says, “I guess that was pretty obvious, huh?”

Clarke shakes her head. “It’s never obvious the first time you work through it. That’s what I’m here for.”

And just like that, Lexa’s fear of asking for help with her work is as good as cured. 

She consults with Clarke quite often after that. Every second question, it seems, comes up as a struggle and every time, she enlists Clarke’s help. Once, she asks Clarke a question and realizes the answer as soon as the words are out of her mouth, but she lets Clarke direct her to the solution anyway. Lexa doesn’t mind, because she likes the way that Clarke’s brow furrows as she looks over the problem, then relaxes when she figures it out. 

When Lexa asks Clarke for help on the very last section of the four worksheets, however, she gets more than she perhaps has bargained for. Clarke is craning her neck to look at Lexa’s work when she suddenly straightens and pushes back in her chair. 

“Let me come over to you, my neck is killing me.”

Before Lexa has even computed what she’s said, Clarke is rounding the table and moving to stand behind her. The blonde slings her arm over the back of Lexa’s chair and leans down over her shoulder to look at the paper.

Lexa’s still breathing, but just barely. They’re both silent for a long moment, Clarke looking down at Lexa’s paper and Lexa looking over her shoulder at Clarke. The pencil in her hand drops with a clatter into the table.

When Clarke finally speaks, Lexa’s head snaps back down to stare fixedly as Clarke grabs the runaway pencil and begins to mark up the paper. “The aluminum ion is going to oxidize, here…”

Lexa isn’t listening, not really. Clarke’s closeness is overwhelming. Before she’d looked away, Lexa had seen the intricate details of her face, swept her gaze over every feature, from the blue of her eyes to the curve of her lips. Her heart threatens to leap from her chest.

She’s only half paying attention as Clarke writes out the solution on her paper. 

“Does that make sense?” Clarke asks when she’s finished.

Lexa nods. “Makes perfect sense,” she says, though the letters and numbers Clarke has written seem to swim and blur together on the paper. 

“Great.” 

Lexa hears the smile in her voice. When Clarke straightens up again and moves away, her hand brushes over Lexa’s shoulder. The sweet scent of her shampoo lingers. 

Lexa doesn’t regain enough sense to question what she’s gotten herself into for another hour, when she stumbles into her apartment still shaking away the haze that’s fallen over her.

If Anya is giving her a knowing grin as she passes by on her way to the living room couch, Lexa ignores it. 

\--

Lexa really isn’t prepared to see Clarke in her chem lecture that following Friday.

She’s already gotten comfortably settled into her seat in the very back row of the lecture hall, water bottle in one hand and granola bar in the other. She feels more prepared this early afternoon than she has in a while -- Indra had let them out of practice on time rather than late last night and allowed her to get more than five hours of sleep, and she’s remembered to lather Icy Hot on her aching hamstrings for once, so she considers that a win.

What she hasn’t prepared herself for, however, is the arrival of a familiar blonde four minutes before her lecture is due to begin. 

“Lexa!” she hears her name being called at the same time she feels a gentle tapping on her shoulder.

She swivels around in her seat to see Clarke standing there with a backpack slung over one shoulder and a windbreaker draped over the other. There’s a to-go coffee cup in her hand. The grin on her face is triumphant, as though finding Lexa is the result of a great effort.

“I thought I might find you sitting in the back,” Clarke says.

“Wait, how did you know where to find me?” is all that Lexa can manage.

Clarke says simply, “Raven has your schedule.”

Lexa nods, though the initial shock of seeing Clarke here in her lecture hall still hasn’t quite processed yet. “I should have known.”

“You should have. But you said it’s hard to work through the problems during lecture, and I don’t have class right now, so I figured I might as well.”

Clarke’s eyes are drawn to the front of the hall where the professor is turning on the projector, the universal signal to begin the lecture. “I’d tell you to come sit closer to the front with me, but it looks like we’re out of time for that. Good thing this one’s open.” She dips her head toward the empty seat at Lexa’s right.

The hall has begun to quiet, so Clarke wordlessly holds the coffee out for Lexa to take, then slips gracefully under the railing that separates the entrance to the hall and the seating. She eases herself quietly into the empty seat. Lexa tries to give back the coffee but Clarke shakes her head.

“It’s for you,” she whispers. 

“You didn’t have to,” Lexa whispers back, but there’s a smile already blooming on her lips.

Clarke shrugs, leaning back nonchalantly in her seat. “But I did. I figured you’d need it, Raven says your coach works you guys hard.”

In the front of the hall, the professor is addressing the homework schedule. Lexa, who had turned in last night’s homework at 1am, was simultaneously not listening to him and grateful to Clarke for the coffee. She lifts the paper cup to her lips. The coffee is hot and burns her tongue, but the flavor is full and a little sweet -- a latte. She’s never been one for espresso drinks, but this isn’t from a run-of-the-mill national chain. Clarke has bought this from one of the independent coffee houses on campus, judging from the label on the cup. Lexa could never bring herself to shell out the extra couple of bucks for that kind of thing, but now she understands why people do.

Once the burning on the tip of her tongue has resided enough, she responds, “Indra does her best to kill us, that’s for sure.”

“It does pay off though, doesn’t it?” She might be imagining things, but Lexa swears that Clarke’s gaze sweeps down her body. She feels a spike in her blood pressure when Clarke gives herself away, “I mean, it pays off when you win games.”

Lexa lifts the coffee to her lips to hide a smirk. Inwardly, she’s quite proud of herself for not melting into a mess. Though, she’s walking a very fine line. “We try to,” she whispers back.

“Ever so modest,” Clarke teases her. “Now pay attention.”

Lexa looks up at the projector screen to see that the professor is about to begin the actual lecture. She settles into her seat and opens up her notebook, but can’t help but to lean towards Clarke and whisper, “Thank you for the coffee, it’s really good.”

Clarke smiles. “It’s my favorite spot on campus. My friend Octavia works there, she hooks me up even though she’s not supposed to.”

“You want some?” Lexa offers, holding the cup out to the blonde. 

Clarke initially shakes her head, “No, it’s for you.” But Lexa only quirks an eyebrow, extending her arm further towards Clarke. Finally, the blonde relents, “Okay, sure, one sip.”

Their fingers brush when Clarke reaches out to take it. The feeling lingers as Lexa watches Clarke lift the cup gingerly to her lips. When it’s handed back to her, Lexa grabs it from the bottom this time. 

If she finds it harder to pay attention to what her professor is saying, Clarke mitigates her own effects on the brunette by adding to Lexa’s notes. When they finish chemical reactions and move on to electron orbitals, Clarke leans over and draws each of them on the margins of her notes. Lexa thinks she’s just keeping herself occupied, but she doesn’t mind because she likes watching Clarke doodle on her notes. There’s something sophisticated about the careful way in which Clarke traces out and labels each part of her diagrams.

When the professor puts problems on the screen for the class to work through, Lexa scribbles down the answer and shifts her paper towards Clarke for review. A couple of times, Clarke gives her a smile and a thumbs up, at which Lexa feels herself warm with pride. But at others, Clarke gently takes the pencil from Lexa’s hand and writes out the correct answers. Lexa doesn’t mind this either, content to let Clarke make corrections on her notes. It astonishes Lexa sometimes, how knowledgeable Clarke seems to be at chemistry. 

She asks Clarke about it after the lecture finally ends and she’s packing up her things. “How’d you get to know so much about this, anyway?”

Clarke shrugs, leaning back in her seat. “It’s just always interested me, I guess. And I’ve taken a bunch of chemistry for pre-med. It just kinda stuck with me.”

“I’m glad it has,” Lexa tells her. “You’re really saving me here, I think my team would kill me if I wasn’t able to play.” Then in a more disgruntled tone, “My coach definitely would.”

Clarke laughs. “I’m happy to help. Might as well put all those hours I’ve suffered through chemistry classes to good use, right?”

Lexa’s brow furrows in disbelief. “You, suffering through chemistry? Somehow, I don’t believe it.”

“Believe it. My mom pushed me through it all through high school. Once I told her I wanted to be a doctor, that is.”

“Oh yeah?”

Clarke nods. “Yeah,” she says. “My mom actually works at the hospital on the west medical campus here. She’s seen so many med students that I guess she’s figured it all out. Not a week goes by where she doesn’t call to make sure I’m staying on track.”

The statement draws Lexa’s mind to her Uncle Gustus, the closest parental figure she’s known. “That doesn’t overwhelm you?” she asks. “I love my uncle, but if he called me every week for a progress report I might lose my mind.”

The blonde lets out a little snort of laughter. “It used to drive me insane. But I love my mom, I know she’s only looking out for me and it makes her feel better to fuss over me, so I just go with it.” They’re both quiet for a moment before Clarke asks, “You lived with your uncle?”

“Yeah, my Uncle Gustus and my cousin, Anya,” Lexa responds. Then, she adds, “She’s here playing for Arkadia, too.”

Clarke’s eyebrow quirks. “Really? She plays soccer, too? A family of superstars.”

Lexa feels her cheeks flush. She stuffs the rest of her things into her backpack and slings it over her shoulders. “Don’t let her hear you say that, it’ll go right to her head. She thinks quite highly of herself as it is.”

When Lexa begins the sideways shuffle to scoot out of their row, Clarke follows close behind.

“Seems to run in the family,” she hears Clarke quip from behind her.

Lexa turns her head to shoot the blonde a grin. “It certainly does for my cousin. She sees herself as a professional footballer.”

“Do you?” Clarke asks as they make their way up the stairs and out of the lecture hall. Neither of them acknowledge where they’re going, but Lexa’s legs carry her automatically out of the building and towards the library where she would go to meet Clarke after her lecture. Clarke doesn’t make a comment, so neither does Lexa.

Lexa responds with a nod. “Soccer is what I’m good at.”

“I could see it,” Clarke says. “You’re good.”

“I thought you hadn’t seen me play?” Lexa jokes. She’s feeling bold after Clarke’s compliment and nudges the blonde’s elbow with her own. “I’m getting some conflicting information here.”

Clarke laughs and swats at Lexa’s arm with the back of her hand. “I haven’t!”

Lexa has a sudden thought. In the span of a few seconds, she waffles between her options, but ultimately decides that she can’t let this confidence building in her chest go to waste. Before she can change her mind, she blurts out, “Then come watch me play.”

Clarke seems taken aback and Lexa doesn’t want to let the silence fester, so she keeps speaking, “You know, because we have a game this Saturday, it’ll probably be a good one to watch. If you want to, if you’re not busy, I could get you a ticket --”

Clarke’s smile seems to grow inexplicably with every second Lexa rambles on. “Lexa,” she interjects, attempting to save her from embarrassing herself any further. “I’d like to watch you play.”

“Oh.” 

They’ve stopped walking, standing in the middle of the sidewalk which is, thankfully, not very busy. In the silence, the trees overhead rustle in the wind and students chatter amongst themselves in the grass around them. 

“Oh, yeah,” Lexa sputters, doing her best to recover quickly. “Yeah, okay. I know the staff that sell tickets at the stadium, they’ll set one aside for me. For you.”

Clarke’s grin is bordering on comically wide. “You’ll text me with the details, right?”

“Uh, yeah. Of course.” Lexa nods so quickly she thinks she might give herself whiplash.

“Great,” Clarke says. “We should get over to the library and work on your chemistry. If I’m going to see you on the field, I’d like to keep you there, too.” 

Lexa grins all the way to the library and all the way home afterwards.

She would never admit it, but she spends the entirety of practice that night shooting glances up at the stands, occupied by the familiar image of Clarke there watching her, and supposes that sophomore year does indeed seem to be looking up.


End file.
